Beloved Daughter
by Rallalon
Summary: Slight spoilers. What could make a person willing to give up their heart and memory? Where does the inferior being become the superior?


Written: 5/21/05

**Disclaimer: **Rallalon does not own Tales of Symphonia or any of its characters, places or items.

.-.-.-.-.-.

A man entered the room quietly, tentatively. He continued until he stood behind a seated woman, careworn and tired.

And absolutely beautiful.

When he placed his hand on her shoulder, she looked up at him and smiled gently. She mouthed two words: "She's asleep." The woman leaned back against him, resting at last.

He spoke in a soft whisper. "I'll stay with her for the rest of the night."

"Husband-"

"Wife..."

They stayed like that for a time, two parents watching over a small, ill girl.

"...Thank you..."

"...Go to sleep," he whispered to her gently.

The woman rose tiredly, kissed him lightly on the check. "...Love you."

"And I you."

With a final squeeze on the shoulder, she left their child's room to retire in their own. The father sat down in the chair his wife had just occupied, still warm. For the remainder of the night, he watched over his daughter.

His beloved daughter.

.-.-.-.-.-.

"Husband...?"

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, dear, nothing! I... I just talked to the midwife. And I..."

"...You're...?"

"Yes!"

The sounds of laughter filled the room.

.-.-.-.-.-.

He'd been afraid of this.

Terrified.

And now his wife was horrified.

Disgusted.

Repulsed.

"You- You!" Her gaze went back and forth between the babe and the man, glaring at both with equal hatred.

His heart being torn out again and again each moment, he held his arms out to her, palms up, pleading. "Please, wife, I-"

"Don't call me that!" the woman shrieked. "You are not my husband! Get away from me!"

"Please, just listen-" He took a desperate step forward, every part of him pleading, being, imploring that she would simply hear him out.

She drew away from him. "Get away from me!"

"I love you! Please, I love you, and-"

The disgust in her expression grew and she nearly gagged, crying. "I- I let you touch me! Take that- that thing and leave!" She pointed to the babe roughly, showing signs of becoming violent. "Take it and get out!"

If he could just console her, talk her through this, get her to understand...

"Get out!"

She rejected him with everything she had.

The man scooped up his crying babe and ran out of the midwife's home as fast as his legs would carry him. People would have heard that. The midwife would have heard that. He needed to reach his house quickly, do... do something that could make this right.

Cradling his babe, his bane in his arms, he ran faster, unable to escape the pained and furious screaming of a woman who had given birth to a child with pointed ears.

.-.-.-.-.-.

"Daddy? Daddy, what's wrong? Where's Mama? Why won't the baby stop crying?"

"Shh... Shh... Mama's coming. The baby's healthy."

"Then why are you so upset?"

"Don't worry, everything will be alright."

"..."

"..."

"...Where are you going!"

"Daddy needs to go away for a while. I'll be back. Later. Once your mother has calmed down. I-"

"What's wrong?"

"Shh... Shh... It will be alright. I'm going for a while and I need to take baby with me. I'll be back. Daddy loves you."

"...b-but..."

"Don't cry, my beloved daughter. I love you. And I always will."

"I love you too, Daddy..."

The sounds of children crying filled the room.

.-.-.-.-.-.

The baby died. Without decent food or shelter, the baby died.

And what was the most ironic was that it was the baby itself that had stopped them from getting that food and shelter.

He tried to go back.

She refused to see him.

Or, see him for who he was.

He wasn't her husband anymore: he was the half-elf who had stolen her husband's skin.

He wasn't a father anymore: he was a beast who was too dangerous to be allowed in the presence of children.

He wasn't anything anymore: he was a half-elf.

Time passed.

His wife aged beside another man.

His beloved daughter grew thinking her father murdered by a half-elven lookalike.

His baby rotted in the ground.

He remained unchanged.

Physically.

.-.-.-.-.-.

"You are certain."

"I am."

"And so you do this of your own free will."

"I give up my heart and my memory."

"Before we begin the transformation, is there anything you must know?"

"..."

"If there is any wavering in your faith, this will fail."

"I want to know if I will see her again. There."

"Explain."

"Will I see my daughter, my beloved daughter? In Heaven?"

"I am certain of it. If that is all, let the transformation begin."

Silence filled the room.

.-.-.-.-.-.

He wasn't sure why he had said it. This was odd by itself. He, one of the select few of the select few, retained the ability to make decisions on his own, to think.

It was an ability that would earn him a place among the Four Seraphim.

However, the ability had acted in a way it never had before. When the girl had asked him... something had happened inside of him. He'd been to a refresher since then; whatever damage the girl had somehow done to him should have been repaired.

A superior being didn't feel pain.

It had been a good idea, telling her yes. Her desperation would make her trust him. And the more she trusted him, the more Martel's vessel would be willing to go through.

Yes. A good idea, calling her that.

...There was that damage again. Where was it coming from?

Thoroughly annoyed, Lord Remiel, made another trip to the refresher.

.-.**End**.-.

I have a challenge for you. No winner or anything, just an offering of an idea. I'm calling it a challenge, because that's what it is. Pick a character you hate, dispise, look down on, whatever. Then make yourself love them. Just start writing from their perpective and see what happens.


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